


Two Wounded Souls

by KESwriter



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Anger, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KESwriter/pseuds/KESwriter
Summary: The Doctor has escaped Judoon prison to find her fam angry at her for keeping secrets. She locks onto a disturbance in time she can fix. Alexander Hamilton has been shot. His fear for the fate of his family and legacy threaten to send him into shock. The Doctor must calm him on the boat ride to New York, with knowledge about the musical related to his life.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Two Wounded Souls

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a Doctor or a historian. I do know a few things about grief. The fam is almost uncharacteristically pissed off at the Doctor. This happens with grief sometimes. I hope you like it.

I just wanted to see my fam again. What I found was anger.

“I thought I had lost you!” Yaz cried. “You’d rather have died than try to find a better way to succeed. I missed you, and now you’re here acting as if nothing has changed. I have changed. We all have changed!”

It had been three months according to them. I couldn’t tell them it had been two years. Two years of plotting and searching for a way to get back to them. It took time and more talking than I had ever done to get one Judoon to sympathize with me and help orchestrate my escape. This was my nature: Bottling up the pain and suffering I went through, so they would haven’t to endure any of it, even in the form of sympathy.

“You and your secrets!” Ryan yelled. “You never trusted us with the whole truth about anything. I can’t handle being around you anymore. You never let us into your personal circle, why should I go with you now?”

“I got sick of your mood swings,” Graham said. “One minute you’re bouncing about, the next you’re sullen and angry at us without giving a reason why. I know you’re not human Doc, but it’s like you gave up trying to even feel anything like us.”

Anger is a stage of grieving. All three of them were dealing with it in their own way. I couldn’t blame them. I just wanted to protect them and ended up pushing them away. I was grieving too honestly; I was afraid to admit it to myself.

I tried not to cry as I walked back into my TARDIS. Still, a few tears found their way out. I put my old friend in motion, with no particular destination in mind.

A signal lit up. There was a disturbance in the universe. One that I could fix. I zeroed in on the location.

“Weehawken, New Jersey?” I said out loud. “Eighteen hundred four?”

The only thing there was the Burr-Hamilton duel. What could I do there?

Without touching a lever, switches and dials moved. The TARDIS was determined to take me there. 

When it stopped moving, I cautiously walked out.

Two men were talking as they approached a boat.

“He’s bleeding out too fast,” a man could be heard saying. “He’s too distraught, I don’t know what to do.”

I stepped forward with psychic paper in hand.

“I think I can be off assistance,” I said.

They looked at me suspiciously.

“We’ve heard of you as a woman capable of great nursing skill in the papers,” one said.

“Look what have you got to lose except more of Alexander Hamilton’s blood?” I said impatiently.

“She’s right,” the lead oarsman said. “We’d best get moving.”

Both men shook their heads, but did not stop me from getting on the boat. He was on his back with his abdomen heavily bandaged.

“Alexander Hamilton,” I said respectfully. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.

The boat began to move unevenly. There was unrest in the waters. Everyone was struggling to keep the boat steady to cross the Hudson. No one was really paying attention to me and Hamilton at the moment.

“Don’t let that trouble you,” I said. “Save your strength.”

I checked his pulse by touching his neck. It was moving far too fast.

“I thought I was ready to die,” he said. “But I’m scared! Scared for my family. Scared for how the world will remember me.”

This was why I was here. To ease a dying man’s mind.

“I made too many enemies,” he moaned. “They will ruin my family and try to destroy everything I have done to help build this country.”

“They won’t,” I said. “They can’t. What you built will outlive both you and your enemies.”

“I am dying and see everything,” he said. “My faults, my failings, I should only have my name reduced to a street sign!”

Death puts it all in perspective. I have been on the brink of it often enough to understand how my failings loom large, as I struggle to pass on wisdom for my next incarnation to take.

“Please,” I said. “Save your strength. Your family is waiting for you. Give them a chance to say goodbye!”

He stared at me suddenly. It was like he was staring into my soul. I felt exposed before him. 

I have never pretended to know how death works. It haunts my every step. Death can give insight clouded by other parts of the brain focused on mundane things, like how to button a button, and steps of the current popular dance. Alexander Hamilton’s senses were heightened in the throes of death.

“You see the future,” he said as a fact. “Tell me what it holds.”

“When this country you founded needs you most. When everything you built is threatened by tyranny not seen in over a hundred years. Your name and success will be sung and praised in desperation, and hope, that what you helped build will survive another hundred years.”

“Sung?” he said curiously.

“The son of an immigrant, will read about your failings and success to create something with infectious hope and delight.”

“It sounds wonderful,” he said.

“The best part I think, is that your wife will be celebrated for the first time since the decades after her death. A young woman will give her legacy new joy.”

Tears fell from his eyes.

“My Eliza,” he said.

“Your flaws and that of the Founding Fathers will be examined with more scrutiny than they ever faced during their lifetimes.”

“The only way our country can move forward is for others to learn from our mistakes,” he said.

“The future is still in flux. But with tens of millions now discovering who you were and how you shaped this country, along with your friends and enemies; hope has a fighting chance.”

“Millions?” he said disbelievingly.

“This country has a lot of growing to do over the next couple hundred years,” I said with a smile.

He looked at me again.

“I see pain your eyes. I think you have lost possibly more than I have. Heed your own advice. Find hope and believe in the magic of words and music.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“Eliza will be remembered,” he said happily. “My Eliza will share in being known by tens of millions. What wonderful world it will be!”

I checked his pulse. It was considerably slower.

“Keep my words between us,” I said. “The world isn’t ready to hear them yet.”

“I think I understand,” he said peacefully.

The boat founds its way to the shore. I was about to move to get out, when Hamilton touched me.

“I never asked your name,” he said.

“Doctor,” I said.

“Let me repay what you have given me: Use your healing skills on yourself.”

I saluted him. He weakly saluted me back.

Having done my work, I got off the boat.

“He is calmer.”

The men who looked at me suspiciously, were now filled with amazement.

“You saved his life,” one said. “Now his family can say goodbye.”

“How can we return the favor?” the other asked.

“I have other minds to heal,” I said. “Grant me a return to trip across the river.”

I looked to Hamilton as he was carried away. The only monsters I had fought this time were of a trouble man’s mind. A great challenge nonetheless.

Like the song: There is a million things I haven’t done. Now was the time to do them.

…

I found the three of them nursing various drinks at a pub. 

“You’re coming with me,” I said.

“Why should we?” Graham asked.

“To grant a dying man’s wish,” I said.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Ryan asked rudely.

Oh Ryan, how I failed you.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything on the return trip home.”

“Where do you want to go?” Yaz seemed to ask in spite of herself.

“Hamilton, the musical. Three days after their Broadway debut. I even scored us tickets to the afterparty.”

“Are you sure you won’t mix things up and have us in the middle of the American Revolution?”

“I promise,” I said.

I looked into each of their eyes. I broke into a million pieces. They didn’t need to be on the verge of death to see my soul. I was laying it all out. Tears fell from my eyes.

“Okay,” Graham said. “One last trip.”

“I’m in,” Ryan said. “Just no more secrets.”

“Please don’t do anything to shut us out,” Yaz said.

“I swear on Alexander Hamilton’s grave, I won’t.”

“It sounds like you have story there,” Graham said. “Are you going to share it?”

I took a seat.

“Sure,” I said. “Then the musical? I have wanted to see it live for ages. I got us seats where we can see Jonathan Groff’s spit, but not feel it.”

For the first time, I saw slight smiles. My heart felt more whole than it has been in ages.

All thanks to Alexander Hamilton. A flawed man, who started something that would outlast his failings. It was all I, or anyone else, could ever ask for.


End file.
